


It’s Not Free, Baby

by echoinautumn (maybetwice)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe, F/M, Manipulation, Mirror Universe, Other, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Tentacle Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George and Winona report for disciplinary action of an unusual sort and meet formally for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Not Free, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



> A half-started fill for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/issenterprise/72138.html?thread=889290#t889290) from, um. Last summer. On the [](http://issenterprise.livejournal.com/profile)[**issenterprise**](http://issenterprise.livejournal.com/) Tentacle Fest, by the request of the lovely [](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/)**rubynye**. I started it then, forgot about it (except for periodic, longing looks at it), and have finally gotten around to finishing it for her. I, er, needed more shame in my life, apparently.

*

“So, what are you in for?”

Winona turns her head, shaken from her sullen reverie while watching the thick metal door separating the antechamber she’s standing in from Archer’s idea of a good punishment, whatever that’s going to be. Her arms are folded over her bared breasts but she’s determined not to be embarrassed by the piercing stare the other cadet is sweeping over her bare body, pausing over all the predictable places. She huffs and looks the other way again, and he just laughs at her.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” he continues airily, and Winona can see him staring at her ass in her peripheral. She doesn’t care enough to say anything in objection, and he isn’t reaching for her, anyway. “Let me guess. You refused the good captain’s advances and he’s punishing you for it? I can’t blame him. If I were in his position, I’d—”

“I poisoned his research assistant,” she spits out impatiently and shoots him a cold look. She doesn’t want to know what he’d do if he were in Captain Archer’s position, but he doesn’t look deterred by her admission. There’s more to it than that, but the fool is dead and Archer liked her, and Winona doesn’t want to admit that she’s really only here _now_ because she did refuse Archer’s offer to be his research assistant and all the _perks_ that come with the position.

“I’m George,” the cadet tells her, grinning easily. “You’re Winona. I checked your file.”

“Then you know what I’m here for.” She looks over her shoulder at him, smooth and cold, and allows herself a slow sweep of her eyes over his body. He’s built well, obviously strong, obviously intelligent, just by the flash in his eyes. Suddenly, her eyes fall on a jagged scar on his shoulder and she scoffs to hide that she’s impressed. “George Kirk.” The cadet who won a fight with Commander Robau the year prior and lived to talk about it—barely.

“You know your Academy legends,” George says, and Winona rolls her eyes, just on this side of a sneer, and looks away again.

Before George can say anything more than that to provoke her, before she can turn his question on him, the metal door lurches and opens slowly. Winona tightens her jaw until it aches, but George doesn’t look perturbed. Possibly he’s been here before, he knows what to expect. When the room comes into focus under dim lighting, she sees a pool not unlike the one she exercises in to grow used to zero gravity situations, though those are rarely encountered these days. Winona takes no chances. Beyond the pool in front of her is another, and another, and all of them look sickly, murky and deep. Captain Archer smiles wickedly from the far side of the nearest pool, and gently sidesteps his beagle, a new puppy who is eagerly sniffing the surface of the water.

“Cadets Butler and Kirk,” he calls to them, walking slowly along the edge of the water. Winona notes with some disdain that his eyes linger over both of them longer than she thinks is appropriate, but then the Captain stops, nearer to them than before, but a healthy distance away, as if he doesn’t want to get between them and whatever is in the pool. The water shifts and rolls. George scoffs, and Winona forces her expression to remain impassive when a slippery appendage breaks the surface and is followed by an eyestalk.

“Christ Almighty, what is that,” Archer supplies for her with an amused smile, and Winona gives him as cold an expression as she dares. “Cadet Kirk, would you care to fill in your compatriot?”

“You’re doing a fine job on your own, Captain,” George says, and flashes Winona a warm grin, stepping forward without even flinching when the appendage encircles his ankle and flicks over his kneecap, almost like a teasing friend. From this close, Winona can see the glistening stickiness coating the mauve creature’s skin and she looks up to Archer, ignoring the second eyestalk peeking at her.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you enjoyed this, Cadet,” Archer suggests simply, and strides toward them, his boot heels clicking on the stone floor. “You keep returning for punishment. Cadet Butler won’t return, but you… I expect I will see you again.”

George looks up at him with a disarming smile. “It’s because nothing you do is going to break me, Captain.” Then he turns to look at Winona, as if to tell her that it won’t be so bad, though she knows that it will be, of course.

Winona has never felt so exposed in her life, but she tips her chin up, unmoved by the threat of being fed to one of Archer’s pets. On the other side of the pool, a playful tentacle reaches from behind Archer’s beagle and tugs his tail, sending the small creature yelping back toward Captain Archer, the same tail tucked between his legs when it collides with his master.

“You can’t kill us,” she says firmly, and George is the one who laughs at her then, earning himself a withering stare that does nothing to dampen his maddening cheer.

“The Disciplinary Board frowns on death as a punishment for most cadets. Such things are saved for assassinations and proper service in Starfleet.” Archer takes a deliberately slow path around to her then, and when he stops behind her, Winona stares straight ahead, even if it means she has to watch more of the monster’s appendages emerge from beneath the roiling deep, several of them resting comfortably on George’s arms, curling around his waist and tickling the base of his shaft. Winona knows with an unsettling certainty what will happen next, and while dying is not preferable in this situation, she thinks that this is no more dignified. Archer places his hand in the center of her back and gently pushes her toward the pool, until she’s standing next to George again.

“Be friendly to Clarice, Cadet, ” Archer says and Winona wonders fleetingly why he’s only warning her. “I would hate for her to get hurt.”

George’s hand falls over hers and the look he gives her is conspiratorial just when he bends forward and kisses her firmly on the mouth. “Don’t fight it,” he whispers, sucking slowly on her lower lip. “Just let it happen and you’ll walk out of this room just fine.” His eyes dance a little, but then Winona feels the first sticky touch on her thigh and she crushes her eyelids together.

George is still on the ground, his feet firmly planted in the stone when three of Clarice’s muscular appendages circle tightly around her and lift her easily until she’s hanging like a broken doll, twenty feet above the surface. Winona inhales suddenly, but she doesn’t scream, though her heart is pounding adrenaline through her. Though every flailing movement of her body is useless, Clarice only adjusts accordingly, holding her in place until Archer’s voice cuts through the air.

“Drop her, Clarice.”

Winona screams then, as she plummets toward the water, then thrashes helplessly under the surface, knocked under and clinging to the same appendages she was trying to escape only seconds before. The liquid is too thick to be water, and it sticks in her nostrils, suffocating her—and then a hand grabs hers and pulls her from the pool. Winona chokes out the liquid from her throat, plastered to the stone, and George growls into her ear: “I told you not to fight it.”

There isn’t a chance to respond. Clarice wraps around Winona again, lifting her gently from the ground, petting her skin and moving her hair from her face as if the monster is apologizing for her rough treatment. “Stop,” she begs when she manages her first whole breath and Clarice pulls her close to her now-exposed bulk, the source of an unimaginable number of tentacles. “Please, stop, I won’t—” She’s beyond caring for her pride, there’s no one to see this but damn _Kirk_ , and she doesn’t care what Archer thinks of her. Clarice doesn’t even need to pry her knees apart; her tentacle flattens itself until the stickiness is enough to push between her thighs and probe her pink lips, then press inside in a maddeningly slow pace. Worse, it isn’t painful. There’s no burn or sting, not even the ache of something too large to fit being forced in, and the second touch, the one touching the very peak of her nipple like a warm tongue, is the one that entreats her to go slack and begin to enjoy.

The moment her knees fall open, George whistles and Clarice pushes in further, swelling to fit, to test Winona’s limits before pressing against her mouth, then her ass, then every bit of her exposed skin, trembling with excitement. Winona opens her eyes to see Clarice turning George over, exploring him more carefully, pausing to prod at him with a measured amount of force, until George’s lips part in an unmistakable expression of pleasure. The slightest uptick of movement inside her cunt presses in just the right way, as if Clarice has had the chance to study human females, and Winona jerks again, not in protest, though Clarice briefly tightens her tentacles around Winona in warning, as if to remind her just what her insolence bought her before. There’s no pattern to Clarice’s touch, no rhythm to fall into and lose herself in, but the shock of each touch is enough, the pulsating, trembling excitement vibrating through Clarice and straight into Winona. She shrieks one more time around the tentacle caressing her tongue, twisting and holding her eyes closed, and comes like an explosion, feeling not unlike the first, exhilarating time she landed her shuttle from space, burning away on reentry and hardly caring if there’s anything left of her when it’s over.

And it’s over. Winona holds her eyes closed, unwilling to look up at George or down to Archer, achingly aware of the breach of intimacy. Clarice lifts her and sets her on the wet stone, and Winona pushes herself up slowly, looking down and ignoring the hand George offers her. When she looks up at him, his erection is still prominent and pointed toward his stomach, but she pushes to her feet alone.

“Dismissed, Cadets,” Archer says coldly, scratching his cowering puppy behind his floppy ears. “Kirk, I expect you in my office tomorrow at 1400.”

“Yes, sir.” George doesn’t leave without her, though, even though Winona strides past him, off-balance and limping into the same antechamber as before, hoping desperately that her uniform is still waiting for her. She’ll incinerate it when she makes it back to her room, and stand under the sonic waves of her shower until she feels clean. When the door slams behind them, George’s hand rests over hers one more time, and Winona shoots him a venomous glare.

“You do enjoy it, don’t you?”

“Not exactly,” he answers, and Winona hates him for how her words have no effect on him, how nothing seems to disarm the legendary George Kirk. “You never asked what I did to deserve coming.”

“I figured it out,” she lies flatly, but a single look at his face tells her all she needs to know, and reality hits her like the slap of the water before. “You were never here for disciplinary action.”

“Captain Archer is my advisor,” George explains, almost gentle, and wipes her cheek with a towel she could swear wasn’t in the room before. “He allows me the chance to preview his possible assistants, among… other duties.”

Winona pushes his hand away, and then slaps him. George doesn’t even look away from her when he offers the towel again. “I told Archer, and I’ll tell _you_ —”

“Think about it, Winona.” George drops the towel at her feet, lifts his own uniform from the bench, and walks past her to the door, sleek and dangerously persuasive, and _now_ Winona understands why Archer keeps him around; why she never had a choice in the matter at all.

“To hell with you, Kirk,” she spits, pushing her hair back and glaring at him, even when he slaps the panel to open the other door, the one that leads out to the rest of the research laboratory.

“Just think about it,” he answers, and looks back toward her one last time.


End file.
